


Tickle My Fancy (Girl, look at that body. I work out!)

by stepquietly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, I want to write odes to them, M/M, Overstimulation, PK's abs are a GIFT, Perfect Human PK Subban, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would appear that being tickled really does it for P.K.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tickle My Fancy (Girl, look at that body. I work out!)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarin/gifts).



> Katarin posted a photo of PK's abs from his recent photoshoot (because she is the BEST), and then things devolved into incoherence and unexpected twitter fic about PK crying during sex. 
> 
> [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra)[](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra)**Petra** was awesome and kind enough to beta this.

It’s not that PK didn’t wander about his house in just his sweatpants before, but ever since the photo shoot Carey’s been giving him shit for it, teasing him about how his laundry’s never done even though he’s got his “washboard” with him.

PK loves this because on the one hand Carey’s chirps are so weak that it’s hilarious, and on the other, damn right, he’s packing a washboard. PK’s pretty damn proud of his body right now. He’s worked hard for it.

This is why he’s currently sitting on Carey, holding him down on the sofa and trying to get him to admit that PK’s abs are the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Just touch them. You know you want to.” Look at them. Heck, it’s all PK can do to keep his own hands off.

“Idiot, get off me!” Carey huffs.

Carey might be shoving him off his lap but PK knows that Carey appreciates the view; his eyes have been following PK around the room all morning.

The whole thing degenerates rapidly from PK sitting on Carey’s lap, posing and letting Carey know that he can look and touch whenever he wants ‘cause this is one hundred percent awesome right here, to a tickle fight. Carey has the advantage since he has a shirt on and his arms pulled in tight, covering all his major ticklish spots. PK’s got nothing on and a whole bunch of skin open for Carey to take advantage of.

Carey digs his fingers into PK’s sensitive sides and PK’s yells “No, no” and screams with laughter, wriggles while trying not to fall off the sofa. He fights to stay mostly on Carey’s lap because it’s the only upper hand he has, but Carey isn’t giving him much chance to get any of his own in.

“This ought to teach you,” Carey says, laughing, his smile wide and gorgeous, dimples showing. PK can’t help but smile back, ‘cause man, Carey’s awesome. Even when he’s being a bitch and taking PK down by really working over his ticklish spots.

It’s fun and ridiculous all the way until something about the sensation flips so it’s no longer that strange feeling of tingly tenderness that normally makes PK squirm and laugh. That’s still there, but there’s also something about the way his breath is so short that he gasps for air, light-headed because he can’t breathe, pushes towards and away from the hands on him – _Carey’s_ hands on him – that makes this feel, makes him feel –

PK suddenly notices that he’s hard, that he must’ve been hard for a while from the way he aches a little. He can’t stop squirming away from the hands touching him, and his cock keeps moving about in his sweatpants and rubbing against the grain.

He’s so overloaded that he doesn’t even notice when he starts to cry. He’s gasping, sobbing and nearly hysterical with the sensation of being touched, sometimes light and whispery or sometimes digging in with fingertips. It’s like his brain whites out; his whole body just wriggles and jerks on autopilot.

Carey seems to sense that something’s wrong because he’s calling out, “PK? Bud, you okay?” He isn’t even trying to tickle PK anymore. Instead he’s trying to hold PK’s gasping, flailing body in place so PK doesn’t hurt himself, but it’s almost making it worse. The way his hands dig in to PK’s sides to hold him still mean that he’s still hitting those spots that make PK want to jerk forward and back and he’s can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe, oh god_ -

PK comes, practically untouched, curled into himself defensively and spurting into his sweatpants. He’s not sure if he’s screaming or laughing or crying, but it’s a relief. Like he’s been holding that in and now it’s done and PK can stop. He can calm down now.

PK’s so focused on coming back to himself from that strange blank headspace, still hunching into himself as if to protect his belly and sides, that so it takes a while for him to realise that Carey’s holding him really tight. Carey has wrapped himself around PK, and PK can hear him whisper, “I’m sorry, buddy; I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” over and over.

PK breathes deeply, concentrates on inhaling and exhaling to re-center himself just like he does on the ice. He doesn’t feel _bad_ precisely, just tired and vaguely tingly after his orgasm. So apparently being tickled really fucking does it for him now. Huh, good to know.

He can't help but wonder if the whole tickle thing happened because he was so focused on his abs, or if it’s because he finally no longer feels like the chubby kid that always has to keep his clothes on, wasn't thinking about that during it. Either way, that’s going to have to wait until later.

“Hey, I know, man. It’s all right,” he says, vaguely hoarse but in an otherwise normal voice. Now that the whole thing’s done with PK feels pretty chill about the whole experience.

Carey calms down as well; his arms aren’t as tight around PK any more though he doesn’t stop rubbing PK’s back.

“Hey man, it’s fine. We’re fine. I’m good now.” PK grins at him, pushes back so Carey can see how he’s totally one hundred percent A-OK. “I mean, clearly I enjoyed it. Even with the crying.”

Carey looks confused. He stops rubbing PK’s back and pushes back so he can see PK’s face better.

“You know, I _liked_ it.” – Carey continues to look confused, but now there’s a glimmer of understanding breaking through. “Yeah,” grins PK, “I don’t know if you noticed but I might have liked it a little too much.”

Carey still looks mildly dubious but PK just grins over at him and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Jesus, PK!” Carey says, exasperated, and the two of them just look at each other for a second before they collapse into giggles because this shit is hilarious. Carey’s probably never going to stop teasing PK about what just went down.

It’s a while before they stop laughing, though Carey keeps going off into a new fit of laughter whenever he looks directly at PK. PK isn't offended; if this was Pricey he’d be laughing his ass off right now.

“Whatever, like you haven’t ever had something weird bone you up,” PK says, and somehow this seems to be the cherry on the cake for Carey because he falls back and covers his face, laughs so hard that it’s whispery and soundless.

PK wrestles his hands off his face, and kisses him silent. They’re both still smiling, the kisses soft and mostly chaste, just lipping at each other - Carey pulls away once to affectionately murmur “freak” before he leans back into the kiss – and hugging it out.

It’s not long before the kisses heat up. Carey nips at PK’s heavy lower lip and PK responds with a moan, opens his mouth and sucks on Carey’s tongue. PK pulls away from the kiss to nuzzle at Carey’s neck, licks and sucks carefully so as not to leave any marks.

Carey’s hard underneath him, has been ever since PK started squirming around on his lap. PK’s still feeling the lassitude of a good orgasm when he circles and grinds his ass against Carey’s dick. He feels Carey shudder underneath him, his legs falling open.

The change in position means that PK can feel Carey’s dick as it snugs up further into the crease of his ass. He’s hyperaware of it through the material of both their sweatpants when he grinds down, loves the way the hard lump of it rubs against his cheeks and barely touches his hole.

Carey’s got a fairly standard stream of filth going, all “yeah, your ass, man” and “next time I’m going to tie you up and make you take it.” But then he says, dry and unexpected, “Fuck, I was just horsing around and you used me to get yourself off, didn’t you? Want me to touch you 'til you beg me to fuck you? Or” – and Carey’s voice deepens – “you want me to tickle you senseless again?”

PK groans because he’s not hard at all; he couldn’t get hard again this fast. But just the thought of it makes him feel like he’s coiling up, like the ramp up to fucking. He leans in to tweak Carey’s nipples and Carey moans, pupils blown and mouth open, huffing wet gasps. PK grins down at him, pats Carey's face 'cause he can't help gloating. If PK’s easy then so is Carey, and PK’s knows enough about all his little hot spots to get him off quick and dirty.

Carey grins back at him, but it's both sweeter and meaner than PK is used to. Then Carey leans in and swipes his tongue up PK's chest, digs his fingers into his side. PK's hips stutter because fuck, fuck, that's amazing, that's awesome, _shit_.

PK can't get hard again yet but he almost feels like he is because of how good Carey’s hands feel. He’s suddenly so conscious of his dick, soft and sliding around in the mess in his sweatpants. It’s a contrast, the way his jizz and the rough material keep rubbing against his dick; the material chafes from the way it’s being pulled and twisted while PK grinds his hips down and Carey shoves his dick up. PK's dick feels raw and oversensitive from the friction which - with Carey's hands smoothing up his chest, tweaking his nipples, pinching his sides - is all running together. Fuck, PK can't come again but it feels like he is, like he's just flying on and on.

Carey whines high in his throat, and PK grunts and huffs and wants so badly to be able to turn Carey over and fuck him hard and rough, but he can’t get hard and he _wants to_ , he _wants_.

“Yeah, Pricey. Uh,” he grunts, face screwing up with how it’s starting to hurt now that the jizz in his sweats is beginning to rub away into the material. He just pushes down harder.

Carey doesn’t seem to have noticed. His hands keep tightening on PK’s ass, shoving him back and forth with them like he’s jerking himself using the clasp of PK’s asscheeks. Fuck, that’s so hot; PK’d be coming right now if he could _just get hard again_.

Carey’s hands tighten to the point where PK’s sure he’s going to have bruises in a couple of hours, and Carey spits out, “Shit, uh, gotta –“

Carey comes with a short, choked off sound, his hands falling away to clutch at the couch cushions. And PK isn’t sure if he's disappointed or grateful because he could do this all day but his dick is chafing and he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes again. But it feels so damn good and PK hates to stop.

“Pricey,” he whines, hips still moving, trying to keep the friction going. He should stop, can see Carey’s grimace because his dick is always oversensitive right after he comes, but something feels unfinished. PK feels unfinished, and he thinks that if he could just get hard and get off that would solve it. He needs more. “Pricey, you gotta help me, man. Please.”

Carey just brings his hands back up and tightens his grip on PK’s ass to hold him still this time. He leans in to kiss PK, drags his hands up PK’s back to hold his face still for long, careful kisses.

Carey kisses him over and over, soft and gentling him down, just holding him steady. Over and over Carey just presses his lips to PK’s, leaves them there while they breathe, and PK feels that that weird feeling of needing more finally begin to fade, lost somewhere in the press of Carey’s lips, thin and chapped against his own.

PK finally pulls away from the kiss and collapses onto Carey’s chest. The position’s not precisely comfortable for either him or Carey but he needs this. Carey seems to get that, pulls him into a hug and lets him sit it out and get it together.

PK takes a while to rest and stop feeling so weird about how his dick feels a little raw and that Carey’s junk is probably covered in drying jizz, just like PK’s. They’re probably going to have to talk about this at some point, but he’s back to feeling like himself now.

He leans back a little and looks down at Carey who’s just sprawled under him, arms loosely holding PK’s sides. And PK grins because he’s never going to get a better chance; Carey’s normally so careful about his defence. He sneaks his hands up and digs into Carey's sides to get a tickle in.

“Shit, PK, what the fuck! Stop!”Carey wiggles free and dumps him off his lap. “Get off. My legs are fucking numb now; I gotta walk it off.” He grimaces and stands up.

PK grins at him, wide and guileless, from the floor. “Whatever, old man. Whatever.”


End file.
